Page 61 of Thirty Days in Paris

‘Where did you find him?’ Juliet asked Melissa, who laughed.

‘He has very few faults,’ she told her. ‘I’m keeping him, for sure.’

The bell rang again. To steady her nerves, Juliet took a sip from the glass Bernard had handed her. She was going to be on high alert every time it rang, wondering if it would be him.

It was Nathalie, behind an extravagant bunch of red roses. She threw off her coat to reveal an electric-blue jumpsuit more suited to Studio 54. Juliet felt a burst of fondness for her ebullient, eccentric friend. How had she survived thirty years without her?

‘This is as cute as!’ Nathalie exclaimed, looking around the apartment, then she introduced herself to Melissa and Bernard. ‘Hi. I’m Nathalie. Did Juliet tell you how far we go back? Over thirty years. I’m not even kidding.’

Of course, she and Melissa started swapping notes, both being American. Juliet found a vase for the roses, then took the warmed madeleines out of the oven and the apartment filled with the scent of rosemary.

Melody Gardot sang about the rain outside.

The bell rang again. It was Lisa and Sarah, brimming over with excitement, bearing champagne and a box of pale green macarons.

‘We did the macaron class today, with Eloise,’ said Sarah. ‘Oh my God, look at this. How are you ever going to drag yourself back to England?’

‘It’s gorgeous,’ sighed Lisa. ‘We thought our Airbnb was nice, but this is next level. The mirrors! The chandelier! I’d never dare put a chandelier in a space like this.’

Juliet felt as proud as if it was all her own. She passed around the madeleines, turned the music up a little as the chatter got louder, tried not to look at her watch.

‘Stop looking at your watch,’ murmured Nathalie. ‘He’ll be here when he’s here.’

Juliet didn’t tell her that Olivier might well have changed his mind after reading the manuscript. There would be time afterwards. Her heart felt heavy, though. If he wasn’t here by now, nearly eight o’clock, he probably wasn’t coming. She tried to console herself that she had an apartment full of wonderful friends, old and new, and they were all having a great time, if the chatter and laughter were anything to go by. She should go and enjoy their company. She was the hostess. She couldn’t lurk in the kitchen nursing her disappointment.

She poured herself another glass of fizz and went to mingle.

Half an hour later, when they were on the fourth bottle and the pile of madeleines had vanished, she heard a text come through on her phone. She tried to ignore it for a few minutes, for once she had read it, she would know the truth. Eventually, she couldn’t bear the suspense.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, and slipped away to pick up the phone from her desk.

I won’t make it. I have to Zoom with the kids. Desolé. O.

Whether it was the truth or a lie, she couldn’t argue with the excuse. Children always came first. And no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t read any more into it. Couldn’t figure out if he’d read her story and decided to keep away, or if—

Of course he’d read it. And now he knew the truth, he didn’t want anything to do with her. He was angry. Rightfully so. But what else could she have done? The truth was better than lies.

She turned away, back to her guests, determined not to punish herself a moment longer. In the background, Melody Gardot sang about her foolish heart.

By half past nine, all the guests except Nathalie had drifted away.

‘That was so fun,’ said Nathalie. ‘I think that’s the first party I’ve been to for years. I never have time. I’m always working …’ She trailed off as she saw Juliet’s face. ‘Oh shit, babe. I’m sorry he didn’t turn up. But you can’t spend your life waiting for a man. You know that, right?’

‘I know,’ said Juliet. ‘But I think it’s my fault.’

‘I thought you had a great day together? If he’s not here, maybe he has other issues? What did his text say?’

‘He had to Zoom his kids.’

‘Well, there you go.’

‘His wife took his kids back to America.’

‘Bitch.’ Nathalie scowled. ‘That might explain why he doesn’t want to rush into anything.’

‘I think,’ said Juliet, ‘it’s because I gave him the opening chapters of my book to read.’

‘What book?’

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